Angelo wiped the single hot tear from Elba's cheek with his thumb. He stood up, his tall frame casting a long, protective shadow over her. He didn't say another word. He simply laced his thick fingers through her freezing ones and pulled her up from the leather sofa.
His grip was absolute. He led her out of the office and straight into the private elevator.
The metal doors slid shut, cutting off the view of the corporate floor. Elba stared at the digital numbers ticking down. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow jerks. The air in the small space felt too thin.
Angelo felt the violent tremors traveling up her arm. He stepped closer, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders, and pulled her flush against his chest.
He pressed her ear against his sternum. The steady, heavy thud of his heartbeat vibrated through his expensive suit jacket and into her skin, forcing her erratic breathing to sync with his calm rhythm.
They walked out into the underground garage and slid into the waiting Maybach. The heavy doors sealed them in the dark cabin. The car sped out of Manhattan, the city lights blurring into long streaks as they headed toward the Long Island estate.
Elba stared out the tinted window. Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots.
Go ahead, drive faster, she thought, her internal voice dripping with absolute despair. Tonight is my execution anyway. That poisoned glass of red wine is definitely already poured and waiting on the dining table.
Angelo sat rigidly beside her. He heard the words echo in his skull. His jaw clamped shut. His fingers curled around the leather armrest, squeezing so hard his knuckles turned stark white. A flash of pure, unfiltered killing intent darkened his eyes.
The Maybach rolled to a smooth stop in front of the massive wrought-iron gates of the estate. The front doors of the mansion were wide open. The butler stood on the stone steps, his face a blank mask.
Angelo stepped out first. He turned, reaching his hand into the dark cabin. He grabbed Elba's wrist and pulled her out with a force that left no room for hesitation or retreat.
They walked side-by-side into the brightly lit foyer. The air inside the house was thick, suffocating, and heavy with unspoken accusations.
They stepped into the grand dining room.
At the head of the long mahogany table sat Douglas Potter, his face dark and unreadable. To his right sat Carla, her chest heaving with barely contained fury.
Georgina sat right next to Carla. She wore a plain, unadorned beige dress. Her eyes were swollen and red, the perfect picture of a traumatized victim.
Across from them sat Errol Foster, Elba's cousin, and his fiancée, Lacey Vane. Errol and Lacey had stopped by the estate earlier that evening to discuss their upcoming engagement party guest list with Carla, only to find themselves awkwardly trapped in the middle of this sudden, vicious family storm. Lacey wore a flashy sequined top, her lips curled into a subtle smirk.
The moment Elba stepped through the archway, Carla picked up her heavy silver salad fork and slammed it down flat against the polished wood table.
The sharp, metallic crack echoed off the high ceiling.
Elba's shoulders jerked up to her ears. Her breath hitched in her throat. She instinctively took a step back, trying to hide behind Angelo's broad back.
Angelo's large hand remained firmly, yet gently, on the small of her back. He guided her forward with an undeniable but fiercely protective stance, leading her to the empty chair across from Georgina. He pulled the chair out, ensuring she was safely seated, and immediately took the seat directly beside her, acting as an impenetrable wall between her and the rest of the room.
"Do you have any idea what you did?" Carla's voice was a harsh, vibrating whip. "You pushed your sister at the most important charity gala of the year! You made the Potter family a laughingstock in front of all of New York!"
Georgina sniffled loudly. She reached out, her pale fingers gripping Carla's silk sleeve.
"Mom, please don't be mad at Elba," Georgina choked out, forcing a fresh tear to spill over her lashes. "It was an accident. I just lost my balance. I don't blame my sister."
Lacey leaned forward, swirling her wine glass. "You are too kind, Georgina. Some people just lack basic breeding. It's obvious who the real blood of this family is, and who is just a charity case."
Elba sat frozen. She kept her head down, staring at her lap. Her hands gripped the fabric of her jeans, twisting the denim until her fingers ached.
Her stomach churned with a toxic mix of fear and rage. The fear vanished, swallowed whole by an explosive, reckless fury.
These absolute idiots! Elba's inner voice screamed, the sound vibrating with raw, unhinged anger. You are all being played by a plastic surgery monster! That paternity test in her designer bag is a complete fake! She isn't your daughter!
Carla's mouth was open, ready to deliver another scolding. The words died in her throat.
She snapped her mouth shut. Her eyes darted wildly around the dining room. She looked at the ceiling, then at the walls, her chest freezing mid-breath.
At the head of the table, Douglas's spine snapped straight. The crystal wine glass in his hand jerked violently. Dark red wine sloshed over the rim, bleeding into the pristine white tablecloth like a fresh wound.
Elba didn't notice. She didn't look up. Her eyes shifted slightly toward Lacey's sequined top.
Angelo felt the violent spike in Elba's heart rate beside him. He remained perfectly still, a silent observer. He had no idea how this strange ability of hers worked, only that it seemed to manifest when she was under extreme duress. He watched his parents' faces, calculating his next move.
And you, you cheap gold digger! Elba's mind continued to roar. You're sleeping with three different sugar babies behind Errol's back! Even the bastard in your stomach belongs to your personal trainer! Stop acting like you're high-class!
This time, the voice was unmistakable. It rang crystal clear, carrying Elba's distinct, crisp tone, directly inside Douglas and Carla's brains.
Carla's pupils dilated to the size of coins. She stared dead at Elba. Elba's head was still bowed. Her lips were pressed tightly together in a thin, pale line. She wasn't speaking.
Douglas slowly turned his head. He locked eyes with his wife. He saw the sheer, unadulterated terror in Carla's expression. The silent confirmation passed between them-they were both hearing the exact same impossible thing.
Angelo sat perfectly still. He caught the microscopic tremors in his parents' hands. He saw the spilled wine. He knew exactly what was happening. He calmly reached forward, picked up his water glass, and took a slow sip to hide the sharp curve of his lips.
Georgina noticed Carla's sudden, bizarre silence. She frowned. She shook Carla's arm gently.
"Mom? Are you okay?" Georgina asked, her voice dripping with fake concern.
Carla flinched at the touch. She slowly turned her head to look at Georgina. She stared at the face that looked so remarkably like her own youth.
Plastic surgery monster. Fake paternity test.
The words echoed in Carla's skull, bouncing off the inside of her head like a physical bell. A wave of intense, physical revulsion hit the back of her throat.
Carla violently yanked her arm back.
The movement was so sudden and forceful that Georgina lost her balance in the chair. She gasped, her hands flailing as she barely caught the edge of the table to stop herself from falling to the floor.
The entire dining room plunged into a suffocating, dead silence.
